Tuesday, 2 June 2009

oh! the humiliation of it all....

here i am, handsome, debonair, happy.... a dinmont in charge of his domain.

and then it happened.

the horrid little blue van pulled into the driveway with all those nasty ringlet haired monsters barking inside. i knew what was coming and ran into the house (bad mistake). unfortunately there was nowhere to hide. kitchen chairlegs aren't very good camouflage for a dinmont of my manly proportions, however hard i try to look green and sticklike, and i was dragged out by the demon writer woman and hoisted up onto the table of torture. the writer woman seems to like going to the hairdresser. sees it as a day out, a day off. personally, i can't see the point of it all. so what if i've got a fringe long enough to make blankets from? makes me look all mysterious--and the moustache is useful for hiding bits of food in for snacking on at odd hours of the night. but the writer woman is a cruel and horrible person who has strongly differering opinions from a dinmont when it comes to questions of personal hygiene.

I tried to plead with those pathetic big black dinmont eyes of mine....

even the terrible tiny teckel tried to help by stealing the torture implements and running around with them. but nothing doing....

the clippers came out, and the humiliation began. fur everywhere. (yes, i know dinmonts are supposed to be plucked, but apparently i have floppy fur and it doesn't work on me--anyway, i bite anyone who tries and always have). then it got worse....

much much worse. (if there's one thing i really hate it's a bath in that horrible white sink they wash the boots in--do i look like i'm some kind of old boot?).

and if there's another thing i really really really hate it's that damnblasted hairdryer. makes my ears go all squeegee inside. you can see from this picture that i am a dinmont at the end of his tether...literally.

ho! i thought to myself. if they do one more thing to me in the hairdressing line...just one more thing...i shall jump and end it all. then they'll be sorry.

luckily for you, devoted reader and dinmont worshipper, they let me get down. they know when a dinmont has had enough of primping. the wimpy weasel and the tiny teckel were all over me of course, telling me how handsome i looked. girls are like that. now i just have to sniff out that eau de reynard i was saving for a rainy day and roll in it. then i'll feel more like myself. but first i'll have a little nap. all this uploading malarkey is very tiring....

thanks nicole, lila and rusty. not sure precious is the right word for my humiliation--still, it's the barks wot counts, i always say.

rachel, we call them cowpats in the uk. i look rather like a highland cow myself with my hair on, but we don't have any cattle round here, sadly, only sheep--and their poo is a gourmet delight. i often keep some in my whiskers for snackies.